


hear your heart through the static.

by amberwoods



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Things Are Not So Perfect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 06:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12126111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberwoods/pseuds/amberwoods
Summary: Percy entered at 9 pm and dropped himself onto a bar stool, immediately picking up a beer mat to play with restlessly.The girl behind the bar shot him a quick look. “Whiskey on the rocks, right?”“Yeah,” he told her, “Thanks.”He was coming here too often lately if they knew his standard order already.He should really cut down on the whiskey.While he was musing about his drinking habits, he glanced at the pretty girl making his drink, the bottle of whiskey in her hand.And maybe it was because of what happened with Tracey, but when he saw her, he almost fell off his bar stool.





	hear your heart through the static.

**Author's Note:**

> un-betaed

Everything was going well for him.

He had reconnected with his family, he was back at the Ministry, steadily rising up the ranks, in a _healthy_ way this time, because he was _learning_ and he was honestly, truly, becoming a good influence. A good man.

Maybe too good of a man. Because he was starting to get uncomfortable with some of the things he saw.

Percy had always related to Slytherins. He had _hated_ them, of course, but not for the reason the rest of his family had – Percy had hated the Slytherin house because it was everything his family couldn’t accept.

And everything he couldn’t accept about himself.

He remembered wearing the Sorting Hat on his first day, fiercely wishing for Gryffindor. The hat had asked him if he was sure – wouldn’t Slytherin suit him better?

He imagined the horrified look on his mother’s face. The awkward dinners. The distance. Even more distance than there already was.

He remembered the worry in her eyes that morning as she sent him off to school. The fear.

He never wanted to disappoint his mother.

So the Sorting Hat had recognized his… _something_ and put him in Gryffindor. And from that day on, Percy despised Slytherins with new fervor. _Because_ he was one of them – deep down.

It had been easy to hate Slytherins when half of them were Death Eaters. It was easy to hate the people who had spurned their chosen one. Easy to raise his fist as part of a mob.

But the war was over, the Slytherins were just kids trying to become people and the Ministry was tearing down all their attempts.

There was no getting used to the attitude in the Ministry. The blatant disregard for ideas from former Slytherins, the way they got the worst jobs, the hardest paths, the worst sanctions. The way they had to give everything up for – what? So their children would have a better future? It sure didn’t look like anything was changing during _their_ generation.

They were the children forced to make up for the sins of their parents.

Some of them couldn’t take it and started raging against the status quo. They were quickly torn down. Some disappeared – into the muggle world, he presumed. Some of them kept their smiles on their face as the people used them as foot rags.

He remembered the look on Tracey Davis’ face that afternoon when someone had insulted her in the break room. The fake smile. The forced, peppy laughter.

He liked being a good man, but he could do without all of this compassion. Some nights, it made him want to disappear from the Wizarding World too.

On those nights, he went to a muggle pub in London and tried to find a way, _any way_ , to change the world.

Percy entered at 9 pm and dropped himself onto a bar stool, immediately picking up a beer mat to play with restlessly.

The girl behind the bar shot him a quick look. “Whiskey on the rocks, right?”

“Yeah,” he told her, “Thanks.”

He was coming here too often lately if they knew his standard order already.

He should really cut down on the whiskey.

While he was musing about his drinking habits, he glanced at the pretty girl making his drink, the bottle of whiskey in her hand.

And maybe it was because of what happened with Tracey, but when he _saw_ her, he almost fell off his bar stool.

He looked at her, her black hair, elegant stature and piercing green eyes. He didn’t know how he had never realized before.

“I know you,” Percy stammered.

The woman looked at him and cocked an eyebrow. “Well, I _have_ been serving you drinks for the last few months.”

“I…” He frowned, sorting through the data in his head, trying to figure out which named belonged to her face. 

“Parkinson,” he finally said.

She snorted as a reaction and poured a generous amount of whiskey into a glass. “Well done, Mr Weasley. I honestly didn’t think you’d get there.”

“I didn’t expect to see anyone I knew here.”

It was true. He was in the most obscure muggle bar in London he could find. It made no _sense_ to run into a former Slytherin here. Certainly not a _Parkinson._ They had… a reputation.

But, yes, he hadn’t heard about her in a while. One of the disappearances.

She handed him his drink. “Well,” she said. She looked him straight in the eye. There was something defiant about that and it sent a rush through him against his better judgement. “Better get used to the idea, Percival.”

He swallowed and tried to regain his composure. “That’s not my name.”

She looked at him in confusion, momentarily caught off guard. “What? It _is_ , right? You’re the ministry man. The nerdy one.”

He eyed her carefully while he brought his drink to his lips. “It’s just Percy. It’s not a nickname.”

Her expression turned back to indifference immediately. “Oh. Fine. I like Percival better.”

“Too bad you’re not my mother.”

She scrunched her nose in disgust. “Gross, Weasley.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, going through his mind again to find more information on her. “Pansy,” he added, like an afterthought.

Again, she cocked an eyebrow at him. He thought she was a little surprised. She opted to ignore that he knew her name, though.

“What do you think I’m doing here?” she asked him instead, “I’m earning a fair ducat.”

He was the one to cock an eyebrow this time. “In a _pub?_ ”

She laughed at his sceptical expression, and _holy shit_ _that did something to his chest he hadn’t been prepared for._

“Yes, in a _pub_.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t have any credentials that didn’t have ‘magic’ written all over them. Luckily, I’ve always known my way around drinks.”

As if to prove her point, she pulled out another bottle of whiskey from below the bar (it had a sticker with ‘pansy’ pressed over the label) and put it to her mouth, taking a big chug.

And even though he’d _never_ do that ( _so unsanitary for God’s sake)_ , she still reminded him too much of himself and it almost _hurt_.

“Why did you come here?” he whispered.

He knew he sounded vulnerable – he _was_ vulnerable. Apparently Pansy knew it too, because she answered him honestly, almost gently.

“Percival, I’m the girl who wanted to sell out Potter. Some of my friends, they have a chance. To… To redeem their name or something. Make sure people don’t think Death Eater every time they see their last names in a register. Me? I never had that chance.”

“Why did you do it?” he asked, and it was probably far too personal and he was _not_ buzzed enough for this, but he wanted to hear it so badly.

Pansy’s voice sounded strangled when she answered, but there was still anger behind it. “Because I was _scared_.”

Scared. Yes, he remembered being scared. He remembered the battle, the adrenaline, the pure fear. Fear of getting hurt. Fear of dying.

He had feared losing someone and he had. Could he blame her for being scared? She’d been even younger than he was.

Percy looked at Pansy, the way her fingers were shaking just a little, the way she was obviously bracing herself, and he knew he had _never_ blamed her for being scared – any of them. _They were kids._

He had rather they ran off scared than die at the hands of an adult Death Eater. He was _glad_ they ran.

Less casualties. Less loss.

He didn’t understand how others couldn’t see that.

He looked Pansy in the eye. “You had every right to be,” he said carefully.

Pansy deflated. All the tension, the anger, the _fear_ in her body fell away. Yet she hung on to a scrap of nonchalance.

“You know, you’re not as bad as they used to say. Tracey likes you, too. Said you cut off assholes when they start insulting her. Maybe I should give you a discount.”

“I would not say no to that.”

Percy smiled at her and Pansy smiled back hesitantly. They had just shared something that felt like a secret – the kind you _need_ to share with someone, or burst.

He wanted to never leave that pub. He wanted to come back every night.

He did.

**Author's Note:**

> so this isn't my usual take on percy x pansy, but I dig it anyway


End file.
